Some Sort of Fairy Tale
by candyflavordlies
Summary: Not a prince, nor a Knight. Nothing special but a walking library with an enchanted hand. This is a 4 part series with a heavy focus on Hatter, starting with his meeting with the Doctors up to sometime before Alice's departure. Rated T for canon violence.
1. Lions In The Library

**Author's Notes:** Chapter 1 of a 4 part series. I'm just going to put this out there – I like my men bloody and slightly to moderately beaten. Very tasty. But more importantly, it makes for an interesting after story. I find it hard to believe that given what the Doctors put Hatter through, he was fine to get up and walk around. Mentally and physically, I think somewhere along the way something had to give.

**Chapter 1 - Lions in the Library**

"Patience brother. We mustn't kill him just yet." He tsks; a vile whistling sound between his teeth. He bends down, so close to Hatter's ear that he pulls away. "So much to see in this gallery of yours."

Hatter raises his head, teeth clenched and stares at the man next to him.

"It seems brother," He pauses as he wraps a cold hand around the back of Hatters neck, "that he himself is falling down the rabbit hole. Best help him along."

And just like that, there's a combination of pain so bright that he does lose it, blacks out for endless minutes, hiding in the crevices in his head, standing outside of his limp body, staring with the blood draining from his ears, the swelling on his face. And although he can't see it, he feels the blisters forming under his torn shirt.

_A bloody mess you've gotten yourself into, yeah_?

Even speaking to himself, the sarcasm drips from every word. He nods his head in agreement; there isn't much else to do when you're talking to yourself outside of yourself in the middle of a torture session. Nothing else much to do.

_Now don't take this the wrong way, but it seems to me this wasn't your best plan_. He nods to that too. He _knows_ this.

_I'm sure you've got some fancy plan to get of this, yeah? Something so dastardly that not even you know what it is? Because I can't say that this is looking to fall in your favor. And if you do have such a brilliant plan, now would be the time to enact it, don't you think? Would be a shame to go completely mad before you've even accomplished the very thing you've come to do. And then you'd leave that damned prince to rescue the lady Alice and then where would that leave you? Being tortured for nothing, that's where._

My Gods did he talk too much. The rambling continued, more annoying than Charlie's repetition of "Hey Nonny" and Hatter really hopes that he isn't like this in real life, not such a prick.

"Shove it, would you?" He blurts it out, real and true and vocal and he cracks open his eyes and wishes he hadn't when he sees the Doctor's smiling at him, their yellowing teeth hidden in the stretch of their mottled gray lips.

"Strong words for a broken boy, aren't they Doctor?"

"Indeed, Doctor. Indeed they are. Mustn't be right in the head, this one. Perhaps we can find the solution..."

It seems hours later that Mad March appears, putting an end to his meeting with the Doctors, one way or another. Hatter is mumbling to himself, watching the riddles float behind his eyes. A raven perches on March's mile high shoulder and he wants to warn it, let the poor bird know that he's sitting on poison, but March doesn't seem to notice and Hatter doesn't bring it to his attention. Hatter has more important things to do like trying to catalogue all the things running free in his head, because he has only a few moments before they're free forever. Free to drive him mad, free to confuse even him and he'll not have it, not go crazy because of those two dimwits, not when he's got so much to lose.

They're ciphers, keys to locks. Warnings and code words to let him know that there's someone or something in there, in his head, that's messing where it ought not be.

_Why is a raven like a writing desk?_

Probably something to do with how useless they both were in situations like these. Hatter strains for it, is tempted to whistle, but can't without drawing March's attention. The bird is perched stoically on the hare's shoulder, apparently unaware of the worst resting spot he could have possibly chosen. He stares at it hard, reprimands it silently for being so stubborn and the bird bows its head in sorrow. He doesn't like it, doesn't like the defeat in that one gesture.

_Come on now,_ he thinks to it. The bird, its dark eyes staring back at him, squawks. It flaps its wings impatiently and nods its tiny head. _I'll get us both out of here if you'll let me._ The raven stays for a moment more, trying to determine if it really is safe to be in there, to give him back that control. Hatter eyes never leave his and the bird nods once more, flying forward to land in his lap.

_One_, he counts.

_The clock's not ticking properly_.

_And why would it_, he thinks, _if debris rests inside its framework. Why would it, if the cogs were stuck, jammed with nonsense and fear? Why would it, if time is the only thing keeping him sane?_

"Past your bedtime, isn't?" He hears someone whisper. "Or is it time for breakfast?" Another voice chimes in.

He knows them. He remembers the rasp of their worn voices and the ever present tinkle of laughter in that sound.

"I think," he whispers back, "that it's high time to get out of here, don't you?"

"Here you say? Out of where? Just on the other side of your eyelids, we are. How do you suppose we leave? And with us, bound so tightly."

He sees them then, bound to an iron pillar, hands tied firmly at their waists. Men, much older than anyone he knew in Wonderland, with spectacles sitting on the bridge of their noses. White hair cropped close to their head and wild mustaches flowing past their shoulders. Their skin was thin but fresh, rosy in the cheeks and nothing like the grey pallor of the Doctors'. One wore a blue plaid shirt, one wore red, both wore tan slacks with brown suspenders, both wore brown leather shoes.

Hatter looks at them carefully and crosses his arms across his chest.

"Much trouble you've gotten yourself into." He nods at the ropes wrapped around them.

"I'm afraid, my boy, that it is you who are in far much more trouble than we."

"Yes, well," he begins as he walks towards them. "It's what I'm known for." He tugs at the knots with his right hand but they hold fast.

"Of course." The one in the blue says.

"Of course." The one in the red agrees. "You are, after all, a Hatter."

"Yes, yes. Bloody well that does me now." Hatter tugs again and the knot budges just a little. "When we get out of here," he mumbles this to himself, though the men stare at him intently. "I intend to take one of those self defense classes Alice was telling me about. What good is it, to get captured by a bunch of goons? I'll learn that flip move she's always doing. Toss them right over my head as I go. I've no love for this capture and torture business." The men smile slowly.

"Good to see your determination's still there boy." The red one begins.

"Thought we were losing you for just a moment. Shame to lose another Hatter, you know." The blue one pulls against his restraints and they fall away easily. The red one follows suit.

"No, no. No good there. Besides," The red one stretches leisurely. "You're much too stubborn to fall for these old tricks, aren't you my boy?"

Hatter openly glares at them, though he feels just a bit foolish chastising the Hands of Time.

"Brilliant. I'm busy wasting my time with you two while some maniac is trying to kill me and my brain's gone off the track. Bloody brilliant."

"Almost there, Hatter, my boy." They both rest a warm hand on his back. "Almost there." And just like that, they're gone.

In the distance, he can hear the rhythmic tick of a clock.

_Two_, he counts.

_There may be crumbs in the butter_

This was the last one, the last safety before he fell forever into the void. One last stretch to prove that he was still Hatter, that they hadn't contaminated him. One last chance to prove that he was him, in him. That he knew himself as he was and not how they made him. One chance to prove that he was _him_ and not the ones before him.

He sees the fluffy white tail disappear around the corner and Hatter curses profusely as he takes off after it. He _hates_ this damned rabbit. Hated it the first time he met him, oh so many years ago when the traps and the locks and the riddles had first been set. Hated the damned thing with a passion beyond belief. Because this one creature, this one riddle, was the one that could destroy him. Hatter made no mistake, while the Raven and the Hands of Time were stubborn but friendly creatures, the rabbit, the damned white rabbit, was a sinister little thing with love for no master in his heart. Hatter pauses when he feels the tug of words on his eardrums.

Mad March interrupts him, something about the Great Library and Hatter looks at him angrily. Clenches his jaw and wishes he would just shut the hell up and let him think. It doesn't matter what he asks; Hatter has no intention of answering either way.

Just one more, just that one damned rabbit and he'd be fine. If he could just catch him, keep him, put him away in his gilded cage, Hatter should be fine. Should be, being the operative word. He, of course, wasn't sure what they'd let loose in there, what magics were still slithering around in his brain, that would continue to do so until all danger had passed and they could go back to sleep, waiting for the next inevitable threat.

Hatter tries to steady his breathing as he retreats back behind his eyes, leaving one ear open in the space between time. He could be quick - he could be the quickest thing on two legs if it meant it could get him out of here, if it meant that his job as protector of the libraries was assured. If it meant that he could get to Alice and get out of this horrible place.

He's running so fast and so hard that he trips headlong over something. Sprawled out on his back, Hatter coughs, the wind knocked out of him. He props himself on his elbows to see what in Gods name could have been there.

The rabbit stares at him, twitches his pink nose and blinks its deep brown eyes and just _stares_ at him.

Huffily, he rights himself, stands tall over the mere 2 feet of creature in front of him. And Hatter stares back.

"That easy, then?" He takes a step forward and the little furry nightmare takes a hop back. Hatter sighs. "Never that easy."

"Do you know," A little squeaky voice begins, "why it is I torment you so?"

"You can talk? Of course you can talk. Of course." It looks at him expectantly.

"No. No, I don't. I really, really don't. Would you care to enlighten me? Not like I've much to do but save a few thousand people."

"Or just one." Hatter clears his throat and tugs at his tattered shirt.

"Well, I need to save my own life first. Nothing selfish in that." The rabbit, with his deep blank eyes and fuzzy face and floppy ears, seems to be smirking at him. Head titled to the side and lips, if that was what they could be called, drawn up at the corners.

"Ah. Well," The young man stutters. "Alice of course. Though she doesn't need much saving. I'm sure she can take care of herself. In fact, I've seen her take down men twice her size More of just the back up, I am." He rolls his shoulders to stand up straighter. Truth is, he isn't sure she's safe at all. When he'd rescued her before, from that room where she held on for dear life, his heart all but dropped. She was strong, that much was certain, but her, an Oyster from a world where things _were_ was no match for the world of Wonderland, where things _could be_. "She'll be fine, I'm sure."

"When we first met, you were but a scared child. And so very angry, Hatter. Oh, you had a smile to melt even the iciest of hearts, and the charm to steal the sun itself from the sky, but your heart? Black as the deepest pits of Wonderland. You hated your father and loved him so. Afraid of what he had given you, what you would become should you fail. Should you follow his path. When you first met me, dear Hatter, it was not me who harbored no love for my master, but you. After all, we are but a reflection of you."

Hatter scratched nervously at the back of his head. "This is all very...revealing, really, fascinating, but I haven't got much time for exposition. Maybe later?"

"What is time, really? Two sly old men in silly outfits? Or perhaps a faint ticking in the back of your head?"

Frustrated, he glares at the rabbit. "Again with the riddles? I'm..."

"Who are _you_?"

"I'm me! Gods you're infuriating." His voice raises an octave and his nerves are trying to steal the confidence he'd felt just moments before.

"Who is _me_?"

"Me. I'm me. Me is a person. A rather striking young man named Hatter. Is that what you're asking?"

"Who is _Hatter_?" And this time, the voice sounds weaker, as if it's floating away and blind panic wells up in the pit of his stomach. He takes a step forward and tries to think. Tries to figure out what he wants him to say.

"Owner of the Tea Shoppe. Son of the Hatter, son of the Hatter before him. Guardian of the Phantom Library and the Great Library. Am I missing something?" A small twitch of the nose says he is. Missing something intricate to him escaping this place, this palace, this life he's fallen under. "I am my father's son. A trickster. A conman by some standards. Honest, I am, though. Never a liar among the Hatters. Not something we pride ourselves on, lying, I mean and that's something to be proud of at least." His eyes grow cloudy at the last statement, thinking back on the madness that consumed his father. What else was there to be proud of? What else was there to hold on to when that was what awaited him?

"Are you? Honest?"

He looks up quickly, doesn't hesitate when he answers. "Yes."

"To whom?" And the implication is clear. The bastard was sitting here and accusing him of being a liar, and _that_ did not sit well at all. He feels his anger rising. He clenches his right hand.

"Go on, then! Ask me a question. Ask me anything."

"Haven't I? And you don't seem to know the answers." The voice fades a little more, barely above a whisper now and the hare in front of him begins to shimmer. Hatter feels the darkness crowding his vision. He hears Mad March say something, a riddle of some kind but nothing nearly as complicated as this infuriating creature in front of him. He hears the electronic voice clear now.

"Twinkle twinkle, little bat, I wonder what you're at." He feels the malice and flinches when March raises his hand.

What was the damn question?

"Time! Time is...minutes, days, hours. Ticking! Clocks! The noise in my bloody head at night, counting down, trying to drive me insane. Time is an enemy when you've got things to do. People to see! And me, why, I'm just a man, aren't I?" He spits it out, remembering the way Jack looked down on him, remembering the choice Alice made. "Not a prince, nor a Knight. No one special. Nothing special but a walking library with an enchanted hand. Nothing but a bomb waiting to go off, madness in a box, my Dad used to say." The smile he offers is self deprecating and nothing like the charming ones he's been giving out left and right the last few days. He shakes his head, thinking to his fight with Alice when he tried to trade her to Dodo. The guilt he felt when he realized what he'd done and how angry it made her. "And I'm bloody honest! You'll say what you will, but lies aren't my thing."

"Why are you here?"

"If the Queen get's the ring, she'll destroy Wonderland!" He knows he's shouting - it echoes through the caverns and rooms and crevices in his head but he doesn't care.

"Then why are you _here_?" The inflection makes him pause. Not why was he in the palace. Not why was he in his head. No. Far simpler. Why was here, in this chair, in this room, in this time. And the answer is as clear as day.

"To save Alice." He can't see it, but Hatter can hear the rabbit smile.

"Then what is time? What is time really?" And Hatter takes a deep, deep breath. Time is enough. Enough to fall in love. Time was enough to tie his black heart to that of a silly Oyster girl and drag him head first into a gaggle of Suits. Time was the only thing to fight for. Because if he failed, died right here, there would be no time to save her, no time to think about all the foolish things he's done on her behalf. No time to apologize, or to punch that bastard of a prince in his smug face. No time to help Alice find her father or get her home. No time to rewrite who he is and who he's made to be and who he wants to be.

"And I am a stupid, stupid man." He doesn't need the rabbit's coercion. He answers the question on his own. "I'm the fool who fell in love with an Oyster girl in a very wet dress." He whispers it to himself, but the voice is back, giggling slyly in front of him and the darkness is fading and here he is standing in front of this furry creature.

"Well done! Well done indeed! You mustn't linger here much longer. People to save and such. I must tell you," and the rabbit is already hopping away from him, a slight chuckle in his voice, "I do like this _Hatter_ fellow. Honest man, he is." He can hear the squawk of the raven and the rumbling laughter of The Hands of Time.

He doesn't worry about where they're going; he feels the locks clicking, feels his brain settling down and falling back into its natural place.

Then he's back, relief drifting into his stomach, blanketing him in warmth even as his body is covered in cold sweat and sticky blood.

The relief, however, is short lived.

He watches as Mad March pulls a blade from his sleeve. Hatter isn't scared, just angry. So very ,very angry that after all he's accomplished, someone was still trying to take it away from him. It's in this moment, when the Queen's assassin lunges at him, that Hatter makes up his mind. He won't fail this time.

This time, he'd be the one to rescue Alice.


	2. Breathing Is Part Of The Game

_Author's Notes: Thank you for tuning in! And special thanks for anyone who has added this story to their Alerts/Favorites, or has reviewed. You're awesome._

_Please note this chapter deals with the physical aftermath of Hatter's interrogation. Lot's of talk of blood. If that's alright with you, carry on!_

**Chapter 2: Breathing Is Part Of The Game**

As they walk back to the Tea Shoppe, Alice can admit that she's panicking. Of all the horrifying, terrifying things she's experienced in the past few days, Hatter's current state tops them all.

They're quiet, he's quiet and that may be the scariest part. Even after the argument earlier on the beach, they'd bantered, an understanding that they were both stressed and hadn't meant most of what they'd said. Now it feels like she's walking with a ghost. In addition to the eerie quiet, she can't help but notice the way he's hunching over, holding his side and gritting his teeth. Not to mention the blood coming out of his ears. And his mouth. And on his hand. From too many places - far too many places.

"Hatter..." He raises his hand, an effort that causes him to sway on his feet and squeeze his eyes shut.

"Let me just get back to the Shoppe."

He hadn't wanted assistance from Royal Practitioners, despite Alice's very loud insistence. He did accept a ride to the general vicinity of his establishment, the Scarab leaving them in the area right before the bridge. Hatter didn't want the presence of the Suits worrying any of his customers or, more likely, the possible refugees that knew the Tea Shoppe as a haven.

He hopes against hope that in all the chaos no one's made it into the room in back - he doesn't care much about the Shoppe itself, but instead the area behind and above it. The only places he'd ever called home.

The place is deserted, the door hanging off the hinges. Hatter stops just before the stairs, looks up through the entrance to the tables thrown about and the chairs missing legs. He thinks better of it and heads around the side.

"Hatter?"

"There's an entrance to my flat, just over here."

"Through the bushes?" She asks skeptically.

"I do know the way to my own place." He continues on through the brush. It's only 3 or 4 feet thick, just enough to hide the path behind it.

He can't stop moving, can't stop putting foot in front of the other, because if he does, he knows he won't make it. And he's come this far.

"6 feet." He whispers softly to himself, counting the steps in between.

"4 feet." He grits out. The terrain, formerly an easy hop, skip and a jump, is now a battlefield of rocks and twigs and branches twisting into his path. He leans heavily against the side of the building, praying to reach the door before he loses himself.

Just a few more feet and he reaches out blindly, his hand landing on the carved wood of the handle.

"Thank you!" He isn't sure who he's talking to and neither is Alice as she stares at him.

"Hatter, you're worrying me." She chews her bottom lip as she looks him up and down. His breathing has gotten much heavier and he's breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat.

"Worrying myself a bit. Come on." He tugs open the pale blue door and stumbles into a dark hallway. He doesn't bother with the light switch. He just needs to get to the bathroom, or a garbage pail. Or a hole in the ground really. He can barely keep the contents of his stomach down as he climbs the single flight of stairs.

One more door at the top of the stairs and it opens up to reveal sky high ceilings, an eclectic mix of furniture in a myriad of colors and Alice's eyes can barely take it all in before Hatter is rushing towards a dark room in the back.

"If you'll excuse me!" He slams the door shut and Alice can hear him heaving, emptying what little left he had in his stomach and then some. Coughing and gagging and groaning and all sorts of awful sounds that have her pounding on the door until he opens it.

He cracks it just a bit and gives her a weak smile.

"Out in a minute?"

"Hatter! This isn't funny!" She knows it's panic that makes her raise her voice but Alice doesn't know what else to do.

"No. No it isn't." As if to illustrate this point, his stomach heaves again. His hands are on either side of the seat and he's throwing up god knows what and all he can think of is how embarrassing this is. And how painful. He can't help the shivering, the chills running up and down his spine and his arms. His muscles clench involuntarily as he spits to try and rid his mouth of the taste of bile.

He flinches when he feels Alice's hand graze his cheek.

"What happened to you?"

"I told you, just a few cuts and bruises."

"Cuts and bruises don't cause this." Before he knows it, she's removed his hat, placing it on the edge of the sink. He feels naked without it. Alice crouches down in front of him and gingerly takes his chin in her hand. She twists his head to the left and then to the right, paying careful attention to the bruising under his right eye and the swelling in his lip. She stands abruptly and reaches her hand out to him.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

He doesn't look up at her, instead focusing on the deep blue of the floor tiles.

"Mind if I stay here? Just for a bit." He starts to sway.

"Hatter!" She grabs his right arm and tries to pull him up. He lets out a heart wrenching cry and she drops him, steps back like she's touched fire. She has no idea what's going. He's laying on the floor now, unadulterated pain across his face as he grabs at his side.

"Hatter," She begins, her voice shaking. "You're scaring me." Alice tries not to, tightens her jaw so she won't, but she can feel the first tear slip down her cheek. "Please tell me what's wrong."

He's on his back, gasping for breath, trying to maintain his cool even as he feels the blood trickling down his abdomen. He fists the bright yellow mat under him and lets out short puffs of air.

"Bastards." He spits the word out, staring at the ceiling and trying to balance his anger with the very real need to lose consciousness and get away from this moment in time. "That bloody hurt."

"What? What hurts? Please? I don't know what's wrong. Is something broken?"

"I really hope not." He forces out as he tries to push himself up. Alice takes a step back as he uses the toilet and then the sink to balance. She's scared to touch him, scared to look at him because she knows somehow this is all her fault.

"Do you have a bed? Somewhere to lie down?" He glances at her, a slow smile spreading across his face and she blushes.

"That's a mite fast. Even for me, Alice." He limps towards her and she takes a cautious step back.

"You can barely walk, let alone stand. Unless, of course, you'd rather sleep on the bathroom floor." She clears her throat and squares her shoulders. She's got a bit of her bite back and it warms his heart just a little. Her eyes are watery and he hates it because this is supposed to be the part where they're happy, forever and always. Except for the very minor detail where he's pretty sure he's bleeding to death.

"To the left. Mind the grass."

Alice leads the way, walking on her tip toes so as not to poke holes in the grass with her heels. Hatter is not far behind, his getting feet heavier. He's near doubled over as he slides along the wall, watching the doorway come into view.

They're there now, Alice staring in awe at the bed and, in general, at the sheer size of the room. Huge, she thinks, would be an understatement. He had two sitting areas and what looked like a half bath tucked in a corner. A massive king sized bed, covered in deep brown sheets and pale blue pillows, sits in the center of the room, resting low to the floor. And the hats! Shelves upon shelves of hats. Hats of all different colors and sizes and fabrics. She doesn't think she's seen so many in one place in her entire life.

She spins to him, her face showing her surprise.

"This isn't at all what I expected."

Hatter glances past her, stares at his room and then looks back to her, confusion written on his face. "What?"

She shakes her head, storing the information and questions to ask later. "Let's get you out of those clothes." She reaches for him but Hatter avoids her, something close to fear flashing across his face.

"No! No. It's fine, thanks. I, um, I actually prefer to sleep in my clothes. Comforting, you know?"

"They're covered in dirt and blood. And torn. And they're damp. And," she clears her throat and points to a spot on his leg, "You threw up on your pants." It seems to dawn on him then, just how filthy he is and Alice can see him trying to shrink away from the clothing. "Where do you keep your sleeping clothes?" Alice looks around, eyeing the wall to wall closet opposite the bathroom.

Hatter blushes furiously. This time it's his turn to clear his throat. "I," he tries to straighten up a bit. "I generally don't wear clothes. To bed I mean. Of course I wear clothes; otherwise it'd be rather awkward."

"You sleep naked?" She quickly pushes the image from her head. As much as she'd love to continue that conversation, he isn't looking any healthier than he did two minutes ago. In fact, he looks seconds away from collapsing. "Alright, never mind. Where can I find you a clean pair of pants?"

He gestures in the general direction of the closet.

"Great. I'll get you something to wear and you have a seat and change out of those clothes." She leaves little room for argument as she walks away from him. He's thankful as he damn near crawls to the bed, his face a grimace of nausea and pain. Determined not to embarrass himself further, Hatter refrains from falling face first onto the large mattress and instead sits gingerly at the edge. The shoes and socks are easy. The jacket is a little harder, the leather heavy from moisture and mud and whatever else he was rolling around in for the last three days. He sucks in a deep breath as he slides the coat off one arm and then the other. Searing pain shoots up his side and he's back to breathing deep and short in hopes of not passing out just yet.

Alice is astounded by the amount of shirts the man has, ranging from normally colored button downs to a hideous white shirt with pink flamingoes running across it. Next to them are dozens of pairs of pants, at least half of them some variation of brown. She finds a black pair, soft and cottony, something that doesn't feel too expensive or too formal to wear in the house. She also pulls out a long gray button down shirt to change into later and tucks a dark pair of boxers underneath it. Alice doesn't really fancy walking around a random man's apartment with just a shirt.

"Is this ok?" She turns to see him sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers and shirt. His hands rest on his thighs and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that she thinks he might scream. She walks over to him quickly, dropping the clothes onto the bed. She kneels down in front of him, pushing his discarded clothes to the side.

"Hatter?" She whispers up at him. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't even acknowledge that she's there and it scares her to death. She reaches up slowly, watching for any sign of movement. She grazes her finger tips across his cheek and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Hey." She whispers it softly, gently and he relaxes, if just a little.

"Hello." He says with just a hint of a smile and Alice smiles back. She can see that he's in pain, can almost see the tears in his eyes with each breath he takes. Her hand is on his knee now, rubbing small circles and distracting him.

"Do you need help?" She looks up into his eyes even as he tries to avoid hers.

He thinks about saying no, lying and doing it on his own in agonizing slow motion. Thinks about it for two seconds before his bravado fails.

"Yeah." He says it so softly that Alice wants to cry. While he was one for theatrics, Alice knows that he isn't playing at anything, isn't pretending. And she knows it kills him to ask and the pity in her eyes is the last thing he wants or needs. So she ducks her head and reaches for the first button.

She gets to the third button before she feels him tense. She looks up but he isn't looking at her, instead staring intently at the wall. She can see his jaw working, clenching and unclenching. He doesn't say anything so she continues.

It's at the fifth button that he starts to shake. His skin is cold under her fingers as she slides the final button through the hole.

The shirt is caked on with blood and she almost loses her lunch as she pulls it free, centimeter by centimeter, pushing the skin while pulling the fabric. She has to stop when he lets out a choked sob. Beneath the torn shirt are bruises, burns and blisters. Horrible misshapen areas of skin. Dozens of bruises in clusters of threes and fours, overlapping and covering him. They're mostly centered on his right side, wrapping around his rib cage.

Hatter takes a deep breath and several more before he can speak.

"Go on." His voice is nowhere near steady but it's all he can muster. His head hurts something wicked and if she doesn't do it now, he may just leave it to grow into his body.

Alice needs to take a breath too. She needs to remember to keep breathing; it would do neither of them any good if she passed out. But she doesn't know what she's supposed to with this. Doesn't know what it means that these ugly marks were for her, all her fault. She takes caution as she removes the rest of the fabric until the shirt falls easily from his shoulders.

"Do you have any antiseptic? A clean wash cloth? And bandages?" She rises, running her hand nervously through her hair.

"In the first bathroom."

"Right." She doesn't say anything else, just disappears down the dark hallway. Hatter takes this moment to shove his fist in his mouth and bite down hard to keep the screams from escaping. It wouldn't do to let Alice know just how much that whole thing had hurt. Peeling away skin and scabs and blood to reveal the bloody flesh beneath and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he's heaving again, nothing left for his stomach to give up.

Alice can hear him but she won't go in there, can't. She gently closes the bathroom door and for the first time since she's seen him, lets herself cry.

She's never been the crying type, instead expressing it through violence. She would much rather throw a two hundred pound man in one of her training exercises than spend the night crying over the hundreds of things she regretted. But this was different. Earlier, when Hatter found her in the casino, he seemed so happy. And she'd felt something she hadn't with Jack or any of the men before him. When he told her they were just cuts and bruises, she foolishly believed him. And now, now that she sees what he's endured for her, her heart hurts so badly that she thinks it could break.

Alice runs the cold water and splashes it on her cheeks. Her eyes are red and puffy and there's nothing to be done about. Instead, she busies herself searching through the cabinets, grabbing things as she sees them until her arms are full. She grabs his hat between her fingers and heads back to the room.

The black pants hang low on his narrow hips as he walks back from the bathroom.

"Feeling any better?" Alice pauses and tilts her head to the side.

"A little, given that half my body is covered in welts the size..." He stops, glancing behind him. "What?"

"You have tattoos?" He pulls his hands behind his back in hopes of hiding the markings from her. They weren't something he broadcasted and not something many people in Wonderland were aware of. There were very few types of people in Wonderland that carried markings and given his lineage, it wouldn't take much to figure out what his meant.

"Yeah, no nothing fancy. Just a few things from my youth. Thanks for, um, bringing my hat back. Get's a bit lonely without it." He throws a smile in her direction, but she doesn't take the opening.

"Huh." She seems distracted by them and it makes Hatter uncomfortable.

"Do you want me to...?" He motions at the items in her hands.

"Oh!" She breezes past him, instead resting her findings on the nightstand.

Alice points to the bed. "I think you should lie down." That smile is back again, this time tinged with something much more serious than she's used to seeing. Alice has to look away when it's clear that he has no intention of doing so.

Hatter knows this is no time for flirting, but then again, what was time at all? Hadn't he learned this just hours before? And if he was going to fall unconscious in the next few minutes, what difference did it make if he did so with a smile on his face?

He crawls onto the massive bed and leans back, his head propped up on impossibly plush pillows, his face a smirk and a frown all rolled into one.

Alice pours the brownish liquid onto the yellow cloth and looks back at him, her eyes reflecting sympathy.

"Tell me if you need me to stop."

He nods solemnly. He knows it'll hurt - the stuff burns like hellfire, but it was this or risk massive infection and die. Not much of a choice really.

Alice starts off with the easy ones - at his hairline and his lip. He winces only slightly when she touches them but doesn't say anything. She brushes the hair out of the way as she wipes the blood from his ear. There are no cuts, no bruises there and it worries her because under no circumstances is it okay to bleed from your ears. He still hasn't told her what happened and Alice starts to realize that she doesn't want to know.

The silence between them is mutual, if not comfortable, and Alice uses this time to think of things to distract both him and her from what she's about to do. She brings the cloth to his stomach and pauses.

"Ready?" Two very deep breaths and he nods. Alice presses down gently, trying not to disturb the exposed flesh and forming scabs.

Within seconds, Alice sees his right hand clench and unclench, grasping nothing but air. His jaw is as tight as his muscles. She leans in, careful not to shift him and her knees dig into the gray shag carpet surrounding the bed. She blows softly, letting the air cool the burn and the sting. She notes the relaxation in his posture and tries to focus him on it.

"You know," she begins. She dabs at the open wounds on his side. Hatter hisses through clenched teeth. "I've always been partial to tattoos." This seems to perk him up.

"Yeah?"

"Um hmm." She hated those massive, sprawling things that men got on their chests and backs. Too much clutter for her liking. No, Alice was a fan of the smaller ones, things with personal meaning. And in just the right location, a tattoo was known to be one of her few weak spots. Particularly tattoos on the back of the neck. Or the inside of a wrist.

Much like the one Hatter was sporting.

"The one on your arm up there looks like a language we have back on my side of the mirror." She pours a little more of the solution on the cloth and continues, flinching every time he does. "What does it say?"

"It's more a symbol really. Like a crest. Nothing words can explain." She glances up briefly; his face is tense and she has a feeling it has nothing to do with her ministrations. She doesn't push it, instead looking at the smaller one on his wrist.

"What about that one?"

"Well," He clears his throat, in territory much more familiar to him. "That is the family crest."

Alice pauses. As far as she knows, most normal families didn't have crests, here or in her realm. They were generally reserved for royalty and the very, very rich.

She takes a moment to look around, takes in her surroundings and starts to realize that she's missing something here. Something very important. She looks at the tattoo again and it almost seems to be moving, shivering just beneath the surface of his pale skin.

"So, how does you go about getting a tattoo in a place like Wonderland? You just walk into a shop, draw a picture and some guy does the rest?"

Hatter scrunches his face. "No..." The word is drawn out and confused. "Is that how they do it there?" At Alice's nod, his confusion grows. "How?"

"There are parlors." She's applying a salve now, something clear and astringent and wrapping thick gauze around his abdomen. "You can either pick out something they've got prepared, bring something of your own, or talk to the artist and see if they can help you come up with something original. Then they draw the design with a pen and ink over it. There's a needle they use to inject the ink into your skin."

Alice chances a look up to see the horror on his face.

"That sounds absolutely horrible." Alice shrugs, in some sort of agreement.

"I'm guessing yours just appeared?" It's not so far fetched, seeing as she has a huge mark on her arm that refuses to be washed, scratched or scrubbed away, with just the use of a light.

"Something like that." His tone doesn't leave room for discussion, and it's just as well; her knees are starting to hurt and she's done as much as she can. All that's left is to change the bandaging at some point and hope that it heals on its own.

She sits there for a moment, her hand resting just next to his fresh bandages.

"Do you mind if I used your shower?" But when she looks at him, Hatter is very close to sleeping, drowsily nodding yes and she isn't even sure he knows what she said.

Alice takes it as a good sign that he's sleeping of his own accord, versus being unconscious. She drapes the shirt and boxers over her arm and gathers as much as she can in her hands.

She keeps her head down, feet treading carefully over the grass pathway. She's so tired and all she wants to do is shower and rest. As she exits the hall, it's that very thought that leads her to a very important observation.

Hatter's apartment very clearly lacks a living room.

Alice's head darts from side to side, taking in the bathroom, the kitchen and the twenty foot banquet table lined with tea cups. She confirms that, yes, there is a definite lack of _guest_ space. Save for the benches at said table, there wasn't a place for guests to sit. Or sleep for that matter.

Which meant that she would be sharing a bed with Hatter. A very large bed. But sharing one none the less.

A sigh escapes her, a reflection of her exhaustion with both the events of the past three days, and the new obstacle placed before her.

The shower is surprisingly hot and it's everything Alice needs. She's cold to the bone. Her body has been numb for days now, what with falling into a lake several times and being in constant fear. It falls over her, washing away long nights spent on the forest floor and uncomfortable afternoons on horseback. Washes away sweating goons in suits and the damp smell of charcoal that's settle in all her clothes after spending one too many nights in front of a camp fire.

She tries to wash away the guilt, though she thinks there's nothing that will take that away. Her hands shake as she slides them down her arms, watches as the liquid soap lathers and tries so hard not to think about what she's been through.

Alice has lost her father and she's come to grips with it. It hurt, dear God did it hurt, to watch him slip away from her so soon after she'd found him. But Alice always knew, even searching all those years for him that he would never be hers to keep. He'd gone for whatever reason, and never came back. She never thought she'd find him, never thought she'd have a meaningful conversation with him and convince him to come back to her. No, her search was to answer the why.

Why did he leave her?

Why did he leave her mother?

Why didn't he say anything?

Why hadn't he called?

Coming to Wonderland had answered all of those questions and given her back a broken man. One, who after all these years, could still hurt her. Who couldn't remember her name.

She knows it wasn't his fault, not the disappearing and not the amnesia but even before that moment in the Casino, when he'd died in her arms, she'd let him go. Forgotten about him because there wasn't any going back. Even if he remembered her, even if they toppled the Queen's reign, he could never come back with her. And so, when Hatter pulled Alice away from her father's body, she'd left that piece of herself there too.

No, it isn't him who Alice feels guilty or sorry about.

Her stomach clenches and she reaches out. Her hand lands on the cool tile in front of her and Alice just has to breathe. Just breathe and not think about it, not think about it because her brain can't take it, and her heart might die.

So stupid

Just a few cuts and bruises and damn it, she was so fucking stupid. She'd heard his breath hitch when he'd hugged her. And for fuck's sake, cuts and bruises don't amount to bleeding from your damned ears. And he'd smiled at her like everything was fine, like he wasn't bleeding from a dozen wounds and two seconds from losing consciousness. And when she'd insisted he see the Royal Practitioners, Hatter had actually raised his voice at her then, not yelling, but leaving no room for argument and she was so very stupid for listening to him.

Alice clenches her hands in attempt to not punch something. She's moved past the crying to the anger but here, in this foreign place, she doesn't know what to do. Back home, she'd go to the dojo and take her emotions out on one of the punching bags or one of her fellow instructors but here...here, there was nothing to do but face it.

She could have lost him. That's the part that really gets her. She could have lost him, never seen him again and she was so happy when she heard that familiar whistle, saw him standing there seconds before they took out the guards. She'd hugged him then, hard, and he hadn't said anything at all except that it felt good and maybe that's the part that gets her too. She doesn't do declarations, doesn't blurt out feelings and sure as hell not to someone she's known for just a few days, but she wanted to tell him that it felt good to her too. That for long minutes, she thought she was alone in this, without him and it scared her senseless. But she didn't and she feels stupid for that too.

The tears start to fall and this time, Alice lets them. She thought he was dead and in that moment, she was angry at him because he promised that he would take care of her and she deserved it, deserved to have someone that would look after her like her father was supposed to and like Jack was supposed to except Jack wasn't Jack, was he? No, a spoiled prince with a fiancé and a she-devil of a mother. When this was all over, where would she be? And if the mirror didn't work? What then?

She thinks about it and she feels herself changing. It means something monumental to Alice that her views of the future take into consideration the future of another person. Almost certainly, Alice's ending to this magical adventure was always based on Hatter, whether or not the Looking Glass worked. She considered inviting him back to her world, showing him things that he could only imagine. And if she'd been stuck, well, she knows that he would be there to hold her up. This, more than anything else, is what made her angry. Selfish as she could be, she was angry because he did almost die, and for her, and all she'd wanted from him was a way to move forward, past herself and past her hang-ups about men and life, and past being Alice.

Alice thinks that maybe, given all that has happened...maybe she's the crazy one.


	3. If You've Ever Dreamed of Never

_Author's Note: Generally, I try to keep my A/N chatter to a minimum, but I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has added me to their favorite or alerts. I've gotten an overwhelming amount of response to this series and I truly, truly appreciate it. Also, if you do leave a review, please remember to sign in! I respond to everyone and some of you leave really helpful feedback._

**If You've Ever Dreamed of Never**

Alice doesn't know where to leave her clothes, so she folds them neatly and places them on the edge of the tub. She leaves her boots there too, afraid to tread dirt through the house and cause anymore of a mess.

She slips on the boxers, thankful for the button in the front. Hatter is surprisingly lean and though they don't fit perfectly, they hang low on her hips instead of falling down. She slides her arms through the long sleeves of the shirt. It's a few inches too long and the hem falls mid-thigh. She buttons every one except for the top; she hates the choking feeling it elicits. Satisfied that she's sufficiently dressed, Alice tip toes back to the room. The grass feels odd underneath her bare feet - not unpleasant, just unfamiliar, and she hurries past it.

The room isn't cold exactly, just not as warm as she would like. It makes getting to the bed gracefully awkward since her first instinct is to run forward and dive under the fluffy comforter at the foot of the bed. Alice walks around to the side not occupied by a completely unaware, partially undressed man and sits down gently. She grabs the comforter and spreads it out to cover her side of the bed. Once it settles, she pulls the edge to her right, covering Hatter from the waist down. She watches him for any sign of movement but there is none. A few minutes more and when she's sure he's still breathing, Alice lies down. She makes puts at least a foot of space in between them before she gets comfortable.

Sleeping with another person in the bed isn't her strong point. She was known to kick, and, on one painful occasion, accidentally punch, when she's forgotten that she's got a guest. She didn't make it a habit of inviting people to stay and she surely didn't make it a habit of spending the night. So she stares blankly at the ceiling, not quite certain what she's supposed to be doing right now. Folding her hands on her chest, she's starts to count backwards from one hundred.

When she gets to 35, she stops.

She glances at the man sleeping next to her, watches his chest rise and fall and she just needs to know that when she wakes up, he'll still be there. Alice reaches under the covers, her pale hand finding his. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, smiles when she feels his pulse thumbing strongly. As she closes her eyes and starts to count again, she doesn't let go.

It isn't morning yet, so says that ever present clock in the back of his mind. He groans, his eyelids heavy and his head even heavier. His body is stiff and protests even the thought of movement. So he lies still, tries to remember why there's an intense pressure around his middle limiting the amount of breathing he can.

The events of the past few days come crashing back and Hatter groans again because really, what else should he do when he thinks about just exactly what he's gotten himself in. Fighting a Jabberwok, meeting a flesh and blood Knight, fighting the Queen's Suits, getting tortured. Can't forget that one. And rescuing Alice. At least he thinks he did. Could be that he's dead and imagining that happy ending.

Hatter cracks one eye and is met with the dull illumination of the artificial candlelight. The room is full of dancing shadows, shifting in the flickering light. He opens the other, thankful that horrible nausea from earlier has disappeared. He doesn't particularly like throwing up. In fact, he could do without ever doing it again.

He's a bit confused, he'll admit, at the sheet covering him and he attempts to reach up, only to find that his hand is anchored down by something very warm and most definitely not his.

Chancing a glance to his left, he's shocked to see Alice, of all people in his bed. Alice. _His_ Alice. In _his_ bed and wasn't this unexpected? So much so that he can't stop the smile spreading across his face.

Alice. Alice was in his bed. Touching him. Nothing scandalous, mind you, just a hand on the wrist but it's more than he could have hoped for. He could stay like this forever, could have her breathing next to him for the rest of his life if only she'd promise to stay. It's sentimental, not at all manly, and not at all Hatter, but one thousand percent true and he'll get over it. _This_. This is what he fought for. Why he found his way back, why he followed after her so many times. This very moment was every reason he's had since he met her.

It's a shame then, that after thirty minutes, his arm is completely numb. He contemplates the consequences of restricted blood flow to a limb - something about it falling off, he thinks. It isn't enough to convince him to wake her up. Instead, he tries to wiggle his fingers and finds that they are stubbornly ignoring him. He twists his arm and feels the pins and needles in his bicep.

Alice mumbles something and he freezes. He looks at her, but her face is a mask of peace. He looks back down at his arm. If could just lift it, get the circulation going again...

"What are you doing?" Panic stops him mid-motion. He knows he looks guilty - just glances from her hand to her face and back again.

"I can't feel my arm." She blinks at him.

"I'm sleeping." She's groggy and grumpy and doesn't care for being woken up after the day she's had.

"Right then. I'll just, ya know, let it fall off." He drops his hand back to the bed and stares at the ceiling, hoping she'll fall back to sleep and forget this whole thing.

When she doesn't say anything, he thinks she might have done just that. He chances a peek in her direction and finds himself staring into clear blue eyes. Her hand is tucked between her cheek and the pillow and tendrils of hair snake out from under the covers to frame her face. It makes his heart skip a beat or two. Her eyes are deep, intense, full of so much emotion that he's not sure the woman in front of him isn't a dream. For clarity, for his sanity, he blinks slowly. She doesn't look away, doesn't fade into the darkness. She holds his gaze and he isn't sure what this is, but he likes it. A lot.

"You scared me." She begins. He opens his mouth to counter, probably something witty and charming, distracting like she doesn't need it to be. "Let me finish."

"Alright." He's not used to one-sided conversation, at least not where he's the quiet one, but he knows that she's got something to say, so he shuts his mouth and listens carefully.

"You scared me, Hatter. I thought you died and I didn't know what I was going to do. Then you came back. And you were hurt, but you were alive and I wasn't so scared." She takes a deep breath, not quite sure why she was telling him this, but she knows she has to. Alice has a thing about guilt - if she doesn't say anything, tries to bottle it up inside, it haunts her for years to come. She can't have this following her for the rest of her life. "I'm angry with you."

Hatter was not expecting that. Maybe a 'thank you', or a 'you're too close, move over', but definitely not that.

"Pardon?"

"You promised," her throat closes up at that. She clears it, determined to continue, determined to let him know what this, what _he_ means to her. "You promised that you'd take care of me. And then you run off with a half cocked plan to rescue me and get yourself into God knows what kind of trouble. And you lied to me Hatter. You weren't ok. You wouldn't even let the damned doctors look at you!" She pauses when she sees him flinch at the mention of doctors. His eyes are cloudy, far away. Alice doesn't like it, doesn't like when he looks away from her to stare blankly upwards.

And when Hatter says "I'm sorry", Alice feels like such a jerk.

Because she _knows_. She knows what happened to him and she knows that he didn't tell her for a reason. They were saving the world, saving the entire population of Wonderland and in the grand scheme of things, what was one person? She would have been worried, fussing over him every time they stumbled and slowed them down. What good would it have done for her to know?

When Alice pulls away her hand, Hatter wishes he'd stayed asleep.

"I just wish you'd said something. I didn't know what was wrong and I thought I was going to lose you all over again." Her hand has a mind of it's own, moving up from his wrist to trace the edge of his bandages.

He holds his breathe, afraid that if he doesn't, she'll realize what she's doing and stop. He understands her when she says she's angry. Because angry and scared are one in the same with Alice, as evident by her outburst on the beach. He doesn't want to fight, doesn't want to this to spiral out of control and change everything that's been changed. He meant it when he said sorry, meant it with all his heart because he knows what it is to be that scared, think that there's nothing to hold on to and for a moment, he was there. Back in the hands of the Doctors.

He grabs her hand in his, stilling it and holding it to him to feel the warmth on his skin. He looks at her, deep brown eyes meeting the translucence of hers.

"I am sorry, Alice." She offers him a small smile.

"Me too."

"Does this mean you're not angry with me, then?"

"No. I'm still angry."

"Oh." He looks back to the ceiling. "Any idea how long that might last?"

Alice almost laughs at that, the innocent face he tries to project.

"No idea. But your chances are greatly improved if you'd let me go back to sleep."

"Right. Sleep." He settles into the pillows and starts to drum his fingers against the sheet. "I can do sleep."

And if she rolls her eyes, he pretends not to see it.

"Good. Night Hatter."

"Night Alice."


	4. Hope Tomorrow Never Comes

_Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone, especially those of you who have reviewed, favorited or alerted. You're wonderful! This is the final chapter of __**Some Sort of Fairy Tale**__. I know! I know! How evil am I? There are some notes at the bottom to clear some things up if you're interested. Thanks again! _

**Chapter 4: Hope Tomorrow Never Comes**

Hatter sighs. He isn't particularly sleepy. In fact, he's as far from sleep as he can possibly get without being high out of his mind. Alice is breathing softly next to him, her fingers curled around his, the warmth setting every hair in his body on end. He doesn't know what they've accomplished, him and Alice, but there seems to be some sort of truce and it's better then her hating him. In fact, he can begrudgingly admit that he, a man famous for forming as little attachment as possible, is content.

He sighs again.

"For God's sake Hatter!" Alice is glaring at him from behind the curtain of her dark hair and it's not something he likes being on the receiving end of.

"Sorry!" He squeaks.

"What? What is it?"

"You're grumpy when you're sleepy." It's an observation really, not an accusation and the glare intensifies. He shrinks back a little.

"We had a deal. You'd let me sleep and in return, I wouldn't do you any bodily harm."

Alice props herself up on her free arm and stares at him. It's hard to get a good look at him in the dim light, but from what she can see, he's looking much better. The color is back in his skin and his breathing is even and nothing like the labored panting she'd witness before. Why then, did he keep sighing?

He's doing that nervous thing with his hand, fiddling with the bed sheet like he did with his hat and the edge of his shirt. She's groggy and heavy and all she wants is for him to go to sleep. She just needs to get past those first few minutes, let her mind and her senses shut down so she can fall into that wonderful deep sleep waiting just behind her eyelids.

"You aren't afraid of the dark are you?"

"Really Alice?" She can hear the smirk in his voice.

He looks at her, the smile growing. She follows his path in an attempt to see what he's seeing.

"Are you wearing my shirt?"

She ducks her head, pretending to look at the item of clothing in question.

He doesn't need her to answer the question. His heart flips in his chest, climbs into his throat and makes him smile like a fool.

"Unlike you, some people actually wear clothes to bed."

"Shame, that is." He pretends not to look at her and Alice hasn't blushed this much since high school. She has a feeling that this is a normal occurrence with him. She can't imagine him _not_ flirting, not being his deceptively charming self for even a minute. She's not sure that he's aware he does it, just second nature really and she has to admit that she likes it. His comment isn't followed by a leer or a grope, or ogling. Instead, he's got the warm sexy smile he always gives her and she smiles in return because this is her Hatter, the one she met in the Tea Shoppe. The same man who'd made a seemingly lewd, but surprisingly honest, comment about her wet clothing and his inappropriate reasoning for helping her.

Her eyes trail down to her hand on his chest and the way he's holding her, ever so gently and she doesn't, for once, feel any fear for the strength she knows lives in that hand. Doesn't fear the way he looks at her, or smiles at her. Even sleeping in the woods, Alice wasn't afraid to lay down next to him, wasn't afraid of him at all. And this means something monumental because Alice doesn't do this either. Doesn't get into bed with a man she's known less than a week. Doesn't dress up in his clothes and wrap herself in his scent and dream about wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing him like she wanted to in the forest. And she doesn't hold hands and make doe eyes and flirt at God knows what hour in the morning.

Except she does and she is and she isn't scared.

"I lied." He begins. He knows before the words are even out of his mouth that this can go badly, whether for her or him, he isn't sure. But he feels like he needs to do this tonight and it's all because of that stupid rabbit and his speech about change and honesty and time and all that nonsense. He was right, but that's neither here nor there. He looks to Alice and she raises her eyebrow, his cue to continue. "When I told you why they call me Hatter. It's my name, you know. My family name." He flicks his wrist unconsciously. "Mad lot, we are. Curse of being who we are. I didn't really think through the whole rescue plan. Not past the sword and the horse anyway." Alice snorts but doesn't otherwise interrupt. "When they caught me, I figured they'd lock me up somewhere and I'd use my questionable skills to escape."

"But they didn't."

Hatter shakes his head, a chill running down his spine.

"Met those chubby blokes again, those Doctors. Weren't too happy about me having helped you escape." He smiles a little but there's nothing like humor in it. "They didn't know who I was at first. Not til they started poking around in there. Thing about us Hatters is, there's stuff in our heads we're not supposed to share, under penalty of madness. Not a pleasant feeling, going crazy." He squeezes her hand, his eyes glassy and she knows he's back there with them. "Fear doesn't begin to describe what I felt. I could feel each trap springing, could feel them getting lose and I didn't know what to do. When I was young, I was taught to spin the magic, wrap it around the entry points and when someone gets past them, the alarms go off. And if you don't get to them fast enough, well," He pauses and when he starts again, his voice is bordering on hysterical. "Then down the rabbit hole you go, Alice. And there's no one who can bring you back. Not even yourself. I was there, almost gone and I don't ever want to be there again. When I told you I was fine, I wasn't lying to you. What's a few bloody holes in your stomach compared to insanity?"

They're both silent and he takes it as a good sign when she doesn't pull away from him, only holds his hand tighter. Feels even better when she moves closer to him, until she's against his side and her nose grazes the side of his neck.

"I'm sorry." She whispers against his neck. Hatter has to close his eyes or he'll do something stupid like kiss her. Instead he squeezes her hand and pulls the comforter up, making sure to cover her shoulders. He pulls his head back, just a little, but he can't see her face. He doesn't know what comes over him, what gives him the courage as he plants a soft kiss on her forehead before he hits a switch just above his head and the room falls into darkness.

"Goodnight Alice."

"Goodnight Hatter."

When he closes his eyes, he knows this won't be the last time. Knows she'll be there when he wakes up, still lying next to him when the sun starts to come. He won't pretend to know what tomorrow will bring. Can't even imagine where they're supposed to go from here but even if this all goes to hell, he can at least say that this time, he took the chance.

He tries to figure it out; this isn't him, isn't the type of person he is, but it doesn't matter. Hatter feels his heart swell, feels the hope rising in the pit of his stomach and for once, he's thankful for the stupid rabbit that lives in his head.

_**Author's Final Notes:**_ I've got to admit, I was extremely apprehensive to post this final chapter. The reviews have been absolutely awesome but also let me know the different directions in which people anticipated this story to go. I never intended to address the final scene in the Looking Glass room – it's been done to death. I also don't think that, had my fic actually taken place,that much would have changed. Hatter wouldn't have gone and Alice wouldn't have stayed and knowing what happened the night before between them could possibly account for why it was so awkward.

In regards to the tattoos, I didn't intend to really delve too much into them, at least not in this particular fic. I hinted at them, and gave a basic explanation, but I'm going to further explore that tidbit in an upcoming fic. Not sure if it will be a sequel or a standalone, but it will happen.

Thanks for reading. You're all very pretty


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